As The Trumpets Sound
by Laryna6
Summary: Sparda knows he's dying, and that without him humanity WILL fall. He's already sacrificed his honor for humanity, what's one more crime? A very, very dark look at SE. With torture, mentioned rape. AU of Rapture. Please read ANs.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: I don't own Devil May Cry._

**_Warning! This is not a sequel or companion to _Rapture._ This is an entirely different fic. A very, very, dark fic. The M rating is there for a reason and there will be a chapter that will only be posted to adultfanfiction . net. _**

**_If you want to avoid anything squicky, do not read chapters two or three, which are on aff . net but not here. I felt I had to write those scenes so that the reader would understand that Sparda had indeed committed a crime instead of siding with the 'hero' against 'deluded' Eva. The fic is rated for those chapters: the rest of it is more a T rating. _**

_In case you're wondering about the… huge mental dissonance between this fic and _Rapture,_ there are two theories on Eva: one, that she was the one human in two thousand years able to win the heart of the great Sparda. Rapture follows this theory: I try to show how someone could be amazing enough to attract Sparda without making her a Mary Sue. However, the other theory is that Sparda knew he was dying (it is interesting how he dies so soon after the children are born) and simply selected a mate: Eva might have had inner strength, eg. magic that Sparda hoped the children would inherit, but was, in this theory, a normal person, nothing next to her husband. _

_I don't like the second theory. However, it is a valid one, and I felt as a Sparda and Eva fan I had to write it, as a counterpart to Rapture. I wanted to, in that fic, also address other Eva theories I dislike, to be fair: those being helpless!Eva, unable to fight off the demons that attacked (this would make the fatal attack the first and only one), and Christian!Eva. _

_So: a Christian woman with magic but no training. In a time when magic was beginning to become more mainstream and Christian communities regarded and persecuted Wiccans as witches still very commonly. Someone who would believe that a devil was _the _devil, or his agent, and utterly refuse to help one, paired with a Sparda who _needed_ those children. A strongminded person with strong faith, who would not be persuaded by words from someone they believed was lying._

_Taking things to their logical conclusions takes you scary, scary places. _

_The challenge was to do this without it becoming Sparda or Eva bashing, because I love the characters. I think I've managed reasonably well._

_Given how Celtic gods got made into saints, Sparda…_

_My works in this fandom don't show it, but I actually hold the Catholic faith in high respect: I was raised Catholic by my parents, who live the faith. I was not confirmed because I didn't want to cheapen it: I personally don't believe. I feel this is better than getting confirmed in exchange for a sound system from our uncle like my brother. That made me headdesk… But Christian theology does not fit the facts of the DMCverse, and I'm having to take that into account. _

_- _

Was it just her or was everyone in the soup kitchen feeling more cheerful?

Eva felt like a huge weight had been taken off her mind now she'd made the decision. She had been praying last night and suddenly she had felt… it had been indescribable. She'd known her prayers had been answered, that becoming a nun was indeed her true vocation.

She'd told her parents this morning, then gone to school early to speak to Sister Mary Brigit. Her mother had said she was a bit disappointed she wouldn't marry, but they were all happy for her. Her father had joked that he was especially happy he wouldn't have to pay for another wedding. The sister had said she had known it since she first met her.

Eva wasn't prideful enough to think she was special, but she was relieved she'd been given the sign. If there hadn't been one she wouldn't have thought she was worthy to spend her whole life helping people. She loved volunteering, making people smile, and she was never as at peace as when she was praying. She was so glad this was her vocation.

Just… people were suffering, everywhere, and she wanted to do something about it. Even if she could only do a little, she would make a difference. That was worth living for.

She ladled soup into the bowls and gave everyone a smile, saying hello to the regulars by name, and blushing when one of them called her a pretty little thing with a wink.

She hummed as she walked home.

"Excuse me, miss?"

She whirled. "You startled me!" She hadn't heard someone come up behind her.

It was a rather odd gentleman, dressed very inappropriately for the neighborhood. He was holding what looked like a small compass. "Are you lost?" she asked, stepping forward and looking curiously at the compass. It had strange symbols on it. A pentagram? She stepped back.

He was wearing a strange amulet with a huge red gem. Somehow she knew it wasn't glass. And a gold broach with a blue stone… was that a horned skull?

It was getting dark and she felt a chill.

He looked very respectable, and she felt an urge to trust him, but on the other hand things felt very wrong somehow. Very wrong.

Still, he hadn't done anything strange, and someone in need should be helped.

"No, I seem to have found the person I was looking for," he responded after moving the compass-thing around slightly. "What is your name?"

"Eva Michelson." Why would someone so strange looking be looking for her? "I'm sorry, have we met?"

"No." He sighed, putting away the compass. "Could I have a few moments of your time? I need to ask you something."

"Ask me what?"

Another sigh. "This is going to sound very strange… do you believe in magic?"

"Yes." Of course witchcraft and demons existed.

"That does make things easier… You have rather a lot of it. In fact, you have the most of… one sort of magic, of any person on the planet."

Her eyes widened. "That…" that can't be, she was about to say, but she wouldn't lie. Somehow she believed him. Her mind raced, starting to panic. Was this why she had been given a vocation? To protect her soul against being seduced by dark forces? Was she tainted?

"There's nothing wrong with it," he hastened to assure her, seeing her distress. "There are two sorts of magic, as there are two worlds. Yours is of the light."

A blessing from god? Then did she have a vocation to use it properly? Could she… it was prideful to think of performing miracles. Even though the people she visited in the hospital always got better…

"Your children would inherit that power. So I have a rather… odd request."

"What is it?" For some reason it was very important that she help him.

_This isn't right, _some instinct whispered. _You should get away! _There was something subtly… wrong about him. "Do you have magic?" she found herself asking.

"How else would I be able to find you? Tell me, are you married?"

"I'm too young." She shook her head. "But I'm not planning to get married. I'm going to be a nun, so I can spend my life helping people."

"Very laudable." He tried to look approving, but… why didn't he like the idea? She looked away from his face.

_Run!_

Just a trick of the light. Streetlights and windows… shadows were criss-crossing. And demons can't hurt you as long as you believe. You're wearing a cross.

But the skull… he looked like a sorcerer from a story. She lifted a foot to take a step back, and seemed frozen somehow.

He noticed her distress, frowned, seemed to focus on her somehow and immediately she felt better. "Have you heard of the legend of Sparda?"

"Saint Sparda? Everyone has," she found herself babbling. "Satan sent his forces to kill Jesus and his disciples after he failed to tempt Jesus but the son of god spoke to one of the fallen angels and he recovered his allegiance to his true master. He killed the other demons and was blessed with a human soul. He fell in love with a pagan priestess and converted her, they worked together to seal away hell and she became a martyr. When he died, he was allowed into heaven. He's the patron saint of exorcists."

Why did he wince? "Perhaps I should just… Well. I would like to have children."

Well, that was a non-sequitur for you.

"Because of your magic, if you were the mother they would have the greatest… odds of survival. Your powers include healing."

Okay, not a non-sequitur. This time she managed to back up. "I'm sorry, but…"

"I would be willing to pay, or marry you… essentially whatever you desire. This is important. I'm dying and…" He shook his head and sighed. "I knew this would be difficult."

"I'm sorry, you're handsome, but I don't want to," she blushed, "have sex."

"There's artificial…"

"No, I'm sorry."

"The fate of the world is at stake." And once again she believed him. "I have guarded this world for millennia, and I am dying. My children could continue to guard humanity."

"You want children just so they can fight for you? That's… why they would die if they didn't have my magic? Is that why you want me to be the mother?"

"The stronger the mother the better the odds she could carry them to term. And if they had human blood then they would be more loyal to humanity."

And she knew. "You're not human." Run, run, why couldn't she run? He was doing something.

"I am known as Sparda." He bowed slightly.

"No. He died." And yet she believed him. "I'm not going to be the mother of the spawn of the devil!" Was the end of the world coming soon?

He must be casting spells on her! That was why she was feeling so odd. She needed to run, find a church… a trembling hand grasped the crucifix around her neck.

He was a devil, she could feel it. Darkness around him, sucking in all the light, trying to pull her in, reaching out to ensnare her.

"Please, listen." He reached out to her, and she could feel his powers do so as well. It made her skin crawl.

She tried to back away and he grabbed her arm. She froze for a second, then raised the crucifix. "Get away!"

He sighed and touched it. "Will that convince you I have nothing to do with your Satan? There are two worlds, I am from the other one."

"I can feel the darkness. I won't give in to you!" She tried to remember what she knew about witchcraft and prayed he needed her consent.

"The other kind of magic. Our children would inherit both. It could give them time to learn how to master it." His hand covered hers. "I will not live pas the end of the millennium. I don't know how much time I have left. I have been looking for centuries for someone with enough power."

"Don't try to trick me! The answer is no!" She managed to struggle, but his grip, though gentle, was harder than iron. "Let me go!"

He regarded her. "This would be easier if… what would it take to convince you?"

"Nothing would convince me! God can defend the world against your kind, you can't trick me into thinking humanity needs _demonspawn_ to save it!" _Our father, _she prayed.

"Doesn't your faith say that god helps those who help themselves?"

She laughed. "You could at least quote scripture, devil."

Should she scream for help? Looking at him, she knew guns wouldn't do anything. He was too strong and unafraid. Though there was some fear in his eyes, behind the resolve.

She could only trust in God.

He couldn't be Sparda. Sparda had died ages ago, and a saint could call miracles. Was her faith so weak that the crucifix did nothing? _Who art in heaven… _

Artificial insemination? What an obvious parody of the immaculate conception. Some said that the end of the world would come at the end of the millennium… _Hallowed be thy name…_

She was doomed. The world was doomed. _Thy kingdom come…_

The end of the world had been prophesized by the Book of Revelations. The Antichrist was going to come. All would be as the bible foretold. _Thy will be done… _

Jesus would come again, and… _On earth as it is in heaven. _

Was she going to be the whore of Babylon? Was _this_ her vocation! _Give us this day…_

Offering her money. _Our daily bread. _

If it was all going to happen anyway, would God forgive her if she couldn't resist him? _And forgive us our trespasses…_

She would never give in to him. _As we forgive those who trespass against us. _

"You should be able to feel that I tell you the truth," he told her. "Please." _And lead us not into temptation…_

Her fingers tightened on the crucifix. "Get _away!_" _But deliver us from evil. _"Amen!" She felt something…

But his power crushed it. _Not despair, despair is a sin. _

"I wish this wasn't necessary," he said softly. "But I have seen what happens when Mundus reigns over your kind, and I swore an oath to do all I could to protect humanity."

"Let me go!" Oh no.

"I cannot." And they were elsewhere. He released her and she ran for the door. He gestured, and it was locked.

"Please, don't…" Oh God, no!

"After they are born I will take your memories and return you to your life. I profoundly wish this was not necessary. I hope in time you will understand." And he was gone.

She collapsed on the ground. Now he was gone whatever he had been using to soothe her, trying to convince her had stopped, and the full terror hit her. He was going to… she was going to… She was damned!

Escape, she had to escape.

She had no chance, but despair was a sin and she didn't want… she had to at least try.

The windows overlooked snowy mountains. Where was she? They didn't open, she couldn't smash them even with the leg she broke off the bedside table.

When she stopped crying the table was repaired and there was food on a side table. He had been in here? Or had it been magic? She shouldn't eat, what if it was drugged? She threw it to the ground. Maybe she could starve to death?

Wouldn't her family call the police when she didn't come home? But no one had seen them talking on the street. If that was even his true form and this was even earth, there wouldn't be any clues.

She had to fight. She wouldn't just give in. She wouldn't let his magic control her. She would never be a witch!

Why couldn't he have just picked some witch for this? He needed the power in her… it had to be evil, all magic was evil.

She was… What was she?


	2. Chapter 4

_Disclaimer: I do not own Devil May Cry._

_This is Ch. 4, not Ch. 3. The real Ch.3, with the non-graphic rape scene, is up on adultfanfiction . net. If you are reading this on ff . net and want to read the whole thing, there is a link to my aff . net account on my bio. _

_Nowadays we're more sane, but before it was often considered the woman's fault if she got raped. _

_-_

She woke in that ornate bed, dressed, and when she remembered she curled up, miserable, and no tears came. It felt like everything was being drained away, even the core of terror and anger she had buried inside in hopes it wouldn't serve his purposes. She'd failed, she'd failed utterly, and she'd… part of her had enjoyed it. She'd never felt so ashamed. It was all her fault, the Antichrist (two of them) were going to be born, and she would be their mother, and…

She knew suddenly she wasn't alone, and pulled the blankets up over her.

He walked almost silently over to the bed. She debated running, but where could she run to? And there was no point, the worst had already happened. She could feel concern radiating off him. Still trying to deceive her when he'd shown his true colors? If he was really a good guy (impossible), he would never have done… that.

She wanted him to go away so she could take a bath. She wanted to scrub and scrub until her skin was raw, but she would never be clean again. Would God forgive her? His mercy was infinite, right? Maybe she could hold her head under water? Suicide was a sin, but martyrs had gone willingly to death and they went to heaven. Killing the antichrist was a good thing… except it had all been foretold and maybe she wasn't supposed to mess up the divine plan.

No, everything being foredoomed was heresy. Maybe the Book was a warning? Plagues and… she had to prevent it if she could. She wished she'd memorized that book instead of the psalms. Then she would have a better idea of what would happen.

Was he lying when he said he would leave her alive? He must be, the devil wouldn't be so kind. Though he might enjoy his whore being a nun, all unknowing. She couldn't confess if she didn't know what had happened. Well, yes she could, but for something this big? She wouldn't be properly sorry if she didn't understand the magnitude of what she had done.

She sniffed, hands covering her face, and a hand touched her back. Warm, and seemingly intended to soothe. Was she feeling what he felt? No, he had to be tricking her. She stiffened instead of trying to wriggle away. No point. _God…_ She stopped.

She was… dirty and forsaken. No, that was despair talking! He must want her to despair!

"I wish it hadn't been necessary. I… since you would not forgive me no matter how much I… minimized it, I did what was best for the world."

There he was, trying to get her to believe he was good again. Ha. "You enjoyed it." Her voice should have been… courageous, there. Rejecting the devil and all his works like she had pledged to do. Instead she just sounded tired and hateful.

"Yes. It's been a long time since I fed enough." Honesty, ha.

"You're trying to make me forgive you. I never will. Never. You… you…" Loathing, for him and for herself, coiled in her. Devil and his… whore. She gulped, face turning into the mattress and a hand reaching down to touch her stomach, passing cuts on the way that hadn't healed, ridges of scars from the patterns in her flesh. She felt the one he had used to make her… she shied from the thought, starting to breathe faster.

"I know," he said softly, and his hand rubbed her back. "I know I should feel more sorry. I've learned what is right and wrong for humans, but I don't feel it. Rape among our kind is nothing."

"Devils, evil incarnate."

"If you were a devil, we would be mates now. My instincts don't understand why you haven't submitted. My instincts want to take you again until you realize that I am stronger and worship me properly. But… that is not all I am."

She shivered, fear and then it was gone. There was something liberating to it. "You lie. You're going to do it to me again." And then she might go mad. "Devil."

She wondered if this was what going mad felt like. It might be nice to go mad, to babble nonsense phrases and giggle. No, he wouldn't let her take refuge in that.

Her mind kept replaying what had happened. She dug her nails into the palms of her hands, but it only reminded her of how the pain had been twisted to feel good.

"I would give you my word, but I have no honor left."

"You betrayed God. Of course you'll betray me." She was nothing, now.

She couldn't feel anything. Of course, too soon. How soon until her belly swelled grossly, until her shame was visible? She shook, again, silent sob, the only kind she could make. "I hate you. I should resist it, but I do. Wrath."

"I know you do. It's… good. For the children. I should be entirely happy you feel that way." His hand moved slightly. "You can hurt me, if you wish. If it would make you feel better."

She had a flashback to when he had told her to run. This wouldn't make any difference either. She shouldn't be tempted to enjoy another's pain. She should hurt herself, for penance, but she knew he wouldn't let her. And would anything but her death be penance enough? Only if she took _them_ with her.

Her… her children. She wanted to murder her children. They were the symbol of how she was so unclean, beyond redemption, symbols of her shame. They would help end the world.

Still. She wanted to kill children.

Oh, God.

"Eva?" he asked, cautiously, at her silence.

"Don't say my name!" How had he even learned it? "Go away!" She shook, rage and fear and… She wanted to be forgotten here. She wanted to be nothing. She wasn't herself anymore. Eva Michelson had been good. She was… less than nothing.

Devil's whore.

What had she done to deserve this? The magic in her. She wished she could tear it out and maybe kill herself in the process. Purgatory would hurt, but at least it would be a cleansing pain, and she'd get to see God again. Hell was to be without God's presence. She was in hell.

"I will not go away," he told her. "There is… nothing I can do here. But still I will stay, so at least you will not be alone."

"I'd rather be alone!" He reminded her of everything he had done. How could he think he could make her feel better? Did he think she would collapse in his arms and cry? She couldn't cry. "Get thee behind me, Satan."

His hand, which had been petting her back stilled. "Eva…"

"Don't call me that. Go away." The moment of emotion had exhausted her, it felt like. All pouring down the drain. She closed her eyes and sighed.

He pushed back the blankets, almost gently, and she froze in panic. Was he? Not again! She whimpered quietly and screwed her eyes shut, shivering now.

"I don't know why I'm doing this," he said quietly. "I… I should go. But… but." He half picked her up, turning her around and laying her head on his lap. She froze. Was he expecting her to… not even under torture! She tried to get up, away, but found she couldn't move, all her muscles relaxing against her will.

His hand stroked her hair, her one vanity, long and gold. She cursed her beauty before she remembered it had nothing to do with this, right?

He felt a little lost, just like her, and she steeled herself against sympathizing with the lie. He was beautiful, she'd noticed that before, just like you'd expect the devil to be. Rich fabric, soft fabric, vanity. Hands that were really talons that could crush her. She shivered.

"I considered… making you love me. But that would have been a lie. You will stay yourself, even though I wish you did not hate me. This is… not for my comfort. You suffering is not the only pain I should be fostering. This… will make them strong. It's necessary. I wish it wasn't. But…"

"Get your hands off me."

"I should. But I won't. This… makes me feel a little better, and at least it relaxes your body."

Traitor body, impure flesh that responded to his gentle touches and kind, sad tone of voice. Was this another spell? She felt so tired, she wouldn't be able to resist.

She was feeling warm now, that had to be a spell. But it felt like a balm, and she couldn't turn away. "It's all my fault," he told her. "Well, Mundus' fault, truly… do not blame yourself. You were merely… born in the wrong time." He sighed. "You are strong."

No, she was weak, and she'd almost never felt that so keenly. The devil was seductive, and she was tired. She felt herself falling asleep… no! Not in his arms, not… like they were man and wife! He had dishonored her! He was evil incarnate! She would…

Spring up, almost feeling chains connection her to the bed tear, and swipe at his face, hissing like a cat. She wanted to hurt him, hurt something, she felt it boiling over. Tears ran down her cheeks and she tackled him, both falling to the floor. She kneed him in the groin like she'd been told to do, poked his eyes and felt them squish, clawed at his face since most of him was hidden and protected by the thick clothing. She felt the gold skull poke into her stomach, and hoped against hope it would cause damage, crush the delicate things.

But he didn't stay wounded, and she screamed in rage, wanting him to have outer marks as she did, wanting him to not be so beautiful, ugly outside as ugly inside, soulless monster that had taken her innocence so brutally.

She beat her fists against his chest, knowing she couldn't do any damage but wanting to reach his heart to claw it out, even though he was heartless.

He barely felt any pain, brief flashes. What she felt from him was peace, his willingness to let her do this, wanting to give her some… penance? What did the devil know of penance?

Was this a trick? She couldn't think of anything more calculated to make her stop. But it was hard, as she calmed down, to tear at his throat and see red blood. It made her sick, and she wondered what she was becoming.

As he hurt, it drained away, and perhaps it was because his pain was filling the gap she felt her own feelings stay, and she gulped and sobbed, feeling her eyes grow moist, and the relief was almost palpable.

She could almost bless him for it.

She wondered about trying to claw _it_ off, but that would require… touching and looking at _it._ She shuddered, remembering and at least she hadn't seen it, then.

"Why?" She sobbed aloud. "Why?"

"It had to be, had to be you. I'm sorry. Almost two thousand years without… and the last of my honor is gone." He bowed his head, chin touching the top of hers.

"Liar. Killing all those people… even if they're sinners… I'm going to… and…" She shuddered and sobbed against him, taking a perverse delight in getting his clothes wet. They would dry, but the only damage she could do was temporary damage. At least it was something.

She felt remorse, but disregarded it. Satisfaction, from him. Had he orchestrated this whole thing so she could cry?

She shouldn't feel grateful. She lashed out, on occasion, but eventually she was too tired to move and she felt the sobs peter out.

She felt at least a little cleaner.

She would never be clean again.


	3. Chapter 5

_Disclaimer: I don't own Devil May Cry. _

_-_

She was drinking blood. Again.

She'd feel so cold, so empty, the presences inside her taking it all, all her fear, self-hate, hate of him, pain, remembered happiness, but before she went catatonic he'd make her drink, and God help her but she'd do it, just to feel anything.

The blood nourished the children, and it carried emotion better than just… through this link they now had. She abhorred the idea of being linked to him by the children.

They were sleepy little things… so innocent. She remembered being that innocent. They made her think of kittens with their eyes still closed. They loved her, and him, and trusted with all their little hearts and souls. Souls? But they were half-human. Maybe she could…

He stroked her hair while she fed, the other hand holding the blade of his sword. It hurt him, the pain fed the children. Along with his regret and his… he cared for her. Or at least he made it seem like he did. He fed her, both this way and with food, made sure she… but she was just a mare in foal, valuable property. Mother of _his_ children.

Sorrow, his and hers flowed through her, and she had to remind herself it was all a trick, all a lie. He had… actions spoke louder than words, louder than thoughts, and he had raped her. That was the ultimate proof of what she knew him to be.

He gently tugged her away, and the wound healed instantly. She shamefully licked the blood off her lips, turning away until she was as clean as she would ever be again.

"Are you all right now?" he asked, looking into her eyes.

"No." She glared.

He only smiled. "Your spirit is back, at least. You're very strong. I hope your children will share that strength." He reached out, but now she wasn't hypnotized by what flowed through her she pulled back, out of reach, standing up and walking across the room.

She put her hand on her stomach and could feel little flutters. How long had it been? She had lost count of the days some time ago. If devil children grew like normal children.

"So I am dismissed?" Surface cheerfulness.

"Yes," she replied, not looking at him as she walked over to the table and took a peach. "I'll eat and bathe on my own now. You don't have to nursemaid me."

He stood and came up behind her. She stiffened, not wanting to respond. He laid a hand on her shoulder. "Despite who you think I am, you aren't paralyzed with fear. You still look for a way to save the world, though your efforts are misguided. You are brave, and intelligent for a human. I do respect you."

"You don't _rape_ people you respect. And you hate humans," she answered through gritted teeth. "We can go to the heaven that you denied yourself."

"I am stuck here on earth… weak as I am I would be killed there, and before if I had returned… no one would have let a traitor become Emperor."

"Quit saying you're Sparda."

"But it is the truth."

"You're lying."

"When have I lied to you?"

"About everything, Satan."

He sighed, and turned her around. Regret, on his too-handsome face. "I wish…"

"I'm not going to be tricked."

"Your resistance is… enthralling. Another devil, as you call us, would have submitted right after defeat. You have no chance, and yet you fight on. I… salute your will." He bowed slightly, eyes hidden from her for a moment.

"Flattery will get you nowhere." She turned her face away.

"I wish there was some way to prove to you… but you have no reason to believe me."

"I have every reason to hate you." Now the babies were full she could feel her own hate again. Her resistance was pitiful.

"Yes."

"Now go away. I'll be fine for a few hours, you don't need to take care of me."

"Just… think, for one minute. What if I were telling the truth?" He took her chin so she had to look at him.

She glared instead of lowering her eyes to avoid meeting his. "Then the Sparda the world reveres is a rapist."

"Several times over. I was… not kind, before I saw the light," he agreed. "And even after, I killed the priestess. The seal needed a death, she tried to make it mine. My death would have strengthened the seal, true. As it is, the seal took most of my power. And so I am dying, spilt in two."

"Even if you were telling the truth, you said you would die within ten or so years. And Mundus is going to come after your kids. You're going to have them, have my children…"

"Your children?"

"They're in my body. Have my children be orphaned and alone, with the devil himself trying to kill them. That's… really not any better." She wrenched herself out of his grasp, stepped around him to the table, and picked up a piece of bread to butter it, though she craved meat.

He put his hand on the back of her neck, and she put down bread and knife (dull knife), hung her head, and sighed. "I wish I could believe you. There? Are you happy? I wish the lie was real. I wish I could believe you weren't evil. Because you _act_ and _feel_ so kind, and you're seductive and beautiful and… but you're the devil, and even though I'm probably already damned I'm not going to give in and worship you like a witch. Not after everything you've done to me."

"I wish I had lied," he told her. "I wish there had been time to lie. I could have swept you off your feet, we would have married, and you would have never known I was inhuman until I had made you love me. I could have used a spell to make sure… But… I'm not human enough to lie like that. I wanted you to know… but… this is war, Eva."

"Don't say my name. Of course you lie, you're the devil."

"Humans lie, Eva. Devils don't need to when humans lie so well to themselves. Mundus let them think he would give them what they wanted, and they built the tower themselves."

"And I'm not going to be another filthy devil-worshipper." Even though it would be so easy to give him, let him touch her, whisper in her ear… he was with her all the time, she never had a chance to think or pray, and then there were the children…

She'd stopped praying. What she should pray for was for the children to die, and she couldn't believe God would grant that. They were children, and God loved children. They were… they could be saved? Even though she was probably already lost?

Traitor body, traitor heart that wanted him. She was always aware of him when she was around him, and the dreams… she knew spells by now. She wished they were spell-caused.

She _wished._

He laughed, and the sound was beautiful. "You keep very clean. And if you worshipped… enough idolize the Legendary Dark Knight Sparda. If you were one more it would ease my inconvenient conscience, but I would not…"

"Don't you _dare_ say you love me." Now, now she vibrated with rage.

He froze. "I will not, then." He bowed his head, submitting, and it just made it worse.

"I will _never_ say I love you either. Those words will not pass my lips." With an act of will, she picked up the bread and knife again.

He stayed, sitting down as she filled a plate from the buffet that never seemed to spoil. Sometimes he would bring delicacies for her, a parody of romantic dinners. The lights here dimmed and brightened, the closest thing to days and nights.

She was hungry all the time, she ached all over from the devil's blood that came from them and mixed with hers. She was… unholy blood in her veins, but the crucifix she still wore didn't burn. Had he desecrated it somehow? But it had never left her… he could have taken it while she slept.

He was watching her, poker faced. Just to make sure she didn't try anything with the too-dull (she'd tried) knife? She wished it was only that.

He got up and took a slice of the chocolate cake, eating it delicately, still glancing at her.

The more she saw him like this the harder it was to reconcile his… odd, but human (no, angelic) visage with his devil form. The harder it was to reconcile this kind man (guardian angel) who took care of her while she was sick (and it was his fault she was sick like this), with the devil who had raped her. But he'd tormented her in human form as well.

The Lightbringer, Morning Star had been the most beautiful. The legends said nothing about Sparda being handsome.

Though there had been that movie, he had been handsome in it. The movie had taken the fairytale version the Protestants taught (they didn't have saints, so no Saint Sparda), and she'd known it was false because all magic came from the devil, so how could a pagan priestess have used the devil's magic to seal away the devil?

She had magic, she could feel it. She could feel it help feed the babies, protect her, like it had fought against his spells. Not enough to help.

"Would you be willing to call me Lucian? It is what humans who don't know I am Sparda call me," he offered out of the blue.

"Why not just Lucifer? But okay." She was tired now, and didn't want him to try to wear her down anymore.

He smiled, made momentarily happy by the victory, and she wasn't sure if she regretted her decision to give in or not. She should probably fight over even the little things, only she was just… tired. It had been months, she knew. Everyone must think she was dead.

Their worst nightmares, that she'd been raped and left to die in a ditch, didn't measure up to the reality. What would they think when she suddenly returned home with no memories of what had happened?

There she was acting as though he had told the truth about letting her go as soon as the children were born.

But… if she had even a chance to redeem the children… her hand drifted down to touch the bulge. Would he let her stay?

Maybe if she pretended that she believed him, wanted to help him, she would have a chance to teach them right from wrong?

She sighed. "I might as well just call you Sparda."

And he smiled, and he was even more beautiful than he always was. She glared. "I still hate you. If you are Sparda… how could you reject God _again_ after seeing the Son?" He'd be suspicious if she caved too easily.

Or should she stay honest, reject him? Tricking him was a lie, was too close to the ends justifying the means. But her soul was already black, and she had horrible visions of the end times.

Anything to stop that.

And if he was telling the truth… she shouldn't even consider that. But… if it wasn't all lies, then she hadn't caught him in a lie. What if he _was_ trying to avert the Apocalypse? Maybe he hadn't felt like he deserved to have a human soul and go to heaven after rebelling with Satan?

She wanted to believe him, she knew. Even though he had… she had to hold on to that memory, as much as it pained her to think about it. She felt so ashamed, doubly so because she had enjoyed it, partly. He had made certain of it, manipulating her body.

He had used her, was using her, even if he was telling the truth. And he had enjoyed it. He was a devil, at least he didn't deny that.


	4. Chapter 6

_Disclaimer: I don't own Devil May Cry. _

_And the Stockholm Syndrome develops even further. _

_-_

He was touching her stomach now, through clothing of course, and he seemed delighted to feel what was probably a kick or punch from the little things. His eyes were slightly hazy, and she knew he was using his sixth sense to feel them. That was the point of this, letting him hold her, to be sure the- hi- her children were okay.

He seemed very happy, and she wondered if needing to be this close to them was a trick. He hadn't actually said he needed to touch her for this, and she'd learned that the way he lied (unless everything was a lie), was to imply something and let her, essentially, trick herself, assuming the implication was the real story.

Still, what if she distracted him before he was done checking? Then he would have to hold her like this for longer. She didn't want him to be too close to the babies, what if he warped them, influenced their minds like he had tried to do hers?

Little helpless things… they loved him too, felt safer when they could feel him (which was at very close range), and she had to tell them the truth but she, part of her, wanted them to keep their illusion. They were devils, but they were so innocent… little angels, and could she catch them before they fell?

He looked so happy. She didn't want him to be happy. But that expression, and what she could sense, that he cared deeply for the twins, made her soften.

She had to stay strong. He felt so big and strange, not a human soul. Not a guardian angel either, for all he promised protection.

The only thing she'd ever needed protection from in her life was him.

She pushed at him. "Well?"

He blinked, and saw her, that light subsiding, and… could he love them? Could the devil love? Did he love the chance to destroy the humanity he hated, the humanity that was allowed into the heaven he had denied himself? Did he love the children? Babes not yet in arms. _Her_ arms.

She didn't want them to know their father had damned them before they were born.

Her belly swelled, sign of her shame, she couldn't forget with that mark there, but… it wasn't their fault.

"They are well. You have been taking very good care of them." His hand lingered, even though there was no more excuse for it to be there. The babies were active, pushing and kicking, like they were trying to dig through to that hand.

She had a sudden horrible image of two tiny versions of the devil that had… clawing their way out of her. Would they match the image she had in her head, would they even look human? Would they have any human in them at all? Was what she felt a lie?

"I'm eating well. You're making sure of that." She stood up from the chair, pushing him away. She could feel the babies look around for him, dimly, but they couldn't feel him without the contact. Disappointed, they felt for each other and went back to sleep.

"You love them." He smiled at her, admiration and what she was afraid of in his eyes. He couldn't feel love… doubts, doubts were plaguing her. No, she would stay strong. But the evidence of her own senses… faith, faith.

But God had abandoned her. Who knew how many months and no one here besides him, no one to rescue her. She got so lonely, sometimes when he went away, instead of feeling properly glad she wanted him to come back. Even though she was afraid of him.

"I don't," she snapped at him.

"You're lying. That's a human trait."

"…they're going to die. If you're Sparda, they're going to fight all of hell on their own, and if you're Satan they're going to perish in Judgment Day. I… they have human souls." Right?

"You want to save them. Love. It's the best thing for them. Children need the love of their parents."

"They don't need anything from you, devil." Her hands cupped over her belly, fragile shield. She couldn't hold him off.

"Even after what I did… is your faith so strong? Or are you so kind, that you do not blame them for the sins of the Father?" He seemed curious, tinged with respect.

"They're innocents. Well, original sin…" Would they survive being baptized? At least they would have a chance at Heaven, then, instead of Limbo. Or worse… "But… they're not the ones who did this to me." She glared again, wishing looks could kill. "I'll save them."

"You are… brave and kind." He bowed slightly, and she didn't want to see admiration.

The more she fought him, the more he admired her, wanted her. The more he wanted her… he had said that he wanted to… do it again. Her cowardly self wanted to be a quiet little mouse, be ignored, do what he said so he lost his respect for her and she would be safe until the end.

But she had to fight him. She'd sworn to fight Satan, and… but if he was Sparda… He'd spoken of the war like he had been there. Saying part-devils had fought on the human side…

If he was telling the truth, was what had happened to her really necessary?

She would have given her life to save the world, right? That would be an honor.

Had she… if she had been willing then he wouldn't have had to… was her dishonor her fault? He really, really seemed to regret it, but he didn't rub it in, saying it was her fault. He didn't try to play on her feelings.

That, more than anything else made her believe him. He was desperate for forgiveness, but not enough to pin the blame on her. He was… honest.

But if he was Satan, then it wasn't her fault, everything was his fault and inevitable. God's fault, perhaps? No!

She shrugged in answer to his compliment, and turned away. "I don't think I need blood today."

"You are growing stronger. You broke the last threads of my spells months ago. You have enough to feed them now, and you are." He sounded slightly regretful.

"Isn't that a good thing? They're not feeding on you, won't that make you live longer? If you are telling the truth." She wanted… she wanted to catch him in a lie. But she couldn't prove a negative. She couldn't prove he wasn't Satan.

Except that he could touch her crucifix without pain… And the tale of Sparda wasn't in the actual Bible, that was why the Protestants rejected part of it, like the Holy Grail. He could be…

Her children would be a hero's children then. Not just… a rapist's children. Whatever else he was, he had done that. For them, and the world, but… he'd enjoyed it.

She wished this had never happened, she wished things were the way they had been when everything was black and white and she knew the truth. He made her doubt, devil that he was, but he claimed he was simply from a land sideways to theirs, not Heaven or Hell. Like Elfland in the stories. He looked like a royal elf, beautiful but it was all a glamour.

"Yes, but… I want to feed you."

"Because that's how it would be if we were husband and wife? We're not. We never will be. I will never be able to let you touch me without remembering, and my skin crawling." She suddenly had a horrible thought. "Promise me something."

"What?"

"Promise me or I swear I'll do my best to hate them."

"Your best is… but I cannot promise without knowing what I am promising."

"After you put me back and take my memories. Promise me you won't… try to seduce me. Try to get me to marry you. Promise me I'll never see you again."

"Never?" He looked pained. Good.

"Never." She glared.

He hesitated. "So you were planning it," she said bitterly.

"I wanted… Yes." He nodded. "You are right."

"And I'd never know the children I helped you raise were mine. Bastard," the swear word crossed her lips and she couldn't believe she'd said it. She blushed slightly, still angry. "You'd… I'll never forgive you. You want me to love you. After everything you did. And you said you don't lie. That would be the _ultimate_ lie."

"I do love you. They love you. I wanted them to have… what they would have had if I wasn't dying, if there had been more time, if I had found a mate, found you sooner." He bowed his head.

"You don't deserve to love me." He wanted her to stay around, for them? She could teach them the Bible, maybe save them? "Don't ever say that again."

"It is the truth."

"People don't _rape _people they love."

He laughed and shook his head. "It's common even among humans. Among our kind? It's romantic."

"Why are you in love with me anyway?"

"You are strong, and kind."

"I wish I wasn't." She shivered, turning so she didn't have to look at him, so the fear would be reduced even a fraction. The children ate it up, little psychic vacuum cleaners, and she blessed them, worried it might harm them. Fear and hate weren't good for human children… but they might need it. Varied diets were good for you. "I wish I didn't have magic. I wish…" she swallowed. "I wish I had never met you." And it scared her, that that last statement wasn't completely true.

She had hurt him with those words, and she smiled, then paled. She was taking joy from the pain of another. Had she really sunk so low? If you were hurt, you turned the other cheek, that was the way. You should be kind to even the worst criminals. Even the devil?

Yes.

His pain was smoothed away by wearied acceptance. He knew he deserved it. He was truly repentant. Weren't you supposed to forgive trespasses? Wasn't repentance worth something?

She still woke up crying sometimes, before the children soothed it, and she blessed them for that. She'd wished she'd died that night.

She wished it had never happened. She wanted that memory gone, but she wanted to stay, save the children… she could have had both. He would have taken it, and then… what would it have been like if she had been willing? If it had been a marriage bed? He had, she swallowed, made her enjoy it, even though she'd tried so hard not to. Used a spell, but… He acted… gentle, and kind, even though he wanted to do it again, harder. He was so handsome, and… like a white knight, every girl's dream. Prince Charming. Prince of Darkness?

If only… if only the lie was truth. If only she didn't know what he was, what he was capable of.

Her shoulders shook, she held it in for the children, and she felt him stand up, come up behind her and lay a hand on her shoulder. Support, comfort, he offered, and she needed it so bad she was willing to take it even from him.

"I want to go home," she whispered.

"I know it is worth nothing, but I _am_ sorry," he whispered back, heartfelt and intimate.

"We could say we eloped."

"What?" She'd surprised and shocked him.

"I'm not leaving the children, not with you." She sounded so hateful.

"You want to take care of them?" He sounded so happy now.

"I want to save them. From you." From everything. She was damned, but these two, not yet, please not yet.

"You are a saint." And he hugged her from behind.

She stood still, endured. He was warm, and the children stirred to greet him. "Don't mock me."

"I was not."

She wished… She felt like she didn't know anything anymore.


	5. Chapter 7

_Disclaimer: I do not own Devil May Cry. _

_- _

"It's finally been nine months?" was her question when he told her he would have the children be born soon.

He shook his head. "It has been almost a year. I judged it best to wait for the solar eclipse, and to give them more time to grow."

"You mean that I've been suffering this for three extra months?"

"Two," he assured her, holding up a hand to forestall her wrath.

The poison blood in her made her whole body ache, on top of what he assured her were normal pains of pregnancy. She'd been feeling… even less rational than she otherwise would be, apparently. This new evidence made her consider maybe her decision to… not totally hate him was part of that irrationality. But, "It's really best for the children?"

He nodded seriously.

"Why eclipses?"

"The superstitious. There is fear in the air, fear of the darkness. It is a source of power."

"Oh." She touched her belly. The clothes still fit, and she wondered if they were made by magic. She didn't ask.

"It will have to hurt," he warned her.

"Childbirth always does." At least there wouldn't be the shame of liking it. "They've been wanting out."

He started to say something and, probably wisely, bit it back.

"When?" she asked.

"Tomorrow."

"That soon?"

He nodded again.

It hurt. Far more than the night that had begun this. She saw the black sun overhead, finally, as he held her hand, told her to count her breaths, and she cursed him with language she had almost never used before.

When it was over she lay back, exhausted, then she felt a second wind. Had he given her it? The pain ended, she knew he could heal, and she felt so grateful.

Even more so when he handed her one of the children. "This is Vergil, he was born first. Rather insistent about it," he informed her with a weary smile.

She held out her arms and inspected him. Moon-pale. White hair, white skin (she'd seen a new baby once, and they weren't this pretty), he already had teeth and fingernails. He scratched her, pawing at her in his enthusiasm, and bit one of her fingers when she petted him. She was momentarily daunted, but it was all kindly meant, like a dog mouthing someone. He was beautiful and he was _hers, _she'd suffered for him, not just _his._

"Why is he named Vergil?" He'd named them without consulting her?

"I thought of the names a long time ago…Vergil and Dante." He was rocking the other baby, who was trying to climb on him with too-short limbs. "You can choose their middle names," he offered tentatively.

"Christian names." She nodded. "Michael," she said to the one in her arms. "Let me see the other one."

He put Dante down on her and was about to pick up Vergil when she knocked his hand away. "Mine."

"But…"

"Mine. You can… do things with them later." Never, if she had her way.

Dante and Vergil were rubbing noses, petting each other after their brief separation, and she could sense a whisper of communication between them, after that very rough experience. Making sure the other was all right.

How sweet of them. Her heart melted even more. They weren't evil. Not when they were so kind, and innocent. She kissed Dante, then Vergil in the head, rubbing them. She glanced at him to see if he was jealous but he was just smiling beatifically down at them all.

He really did… love them?

He did.

Strange that she finally believed it now, after an experience like that.

The children were a little afraid, nosing at her for reassurance. The world was big and they were in it. They were going to have a tough time whatever was true. She wanted, suddenly, to put them back where they were safe (only as safe as she was) and would stay innocent instead of dying or becoming evil. But she'd save them, right? She wouldn't fail them like she'd failed herself.

"Shh, shh babies. Mommy's here, it'll all be okay." She rocked them. He put a hand on their heads and they made happy chirps, glad to be with Mommy and Daddy. Beloved by both, they accepted the apology for the pain so easily.

Love conquered all? Did love really make up for… She didn't want to think of that now. "George," she whispered to Dante. George had killed the dragon. "We're baptizing them."

"As you wish."

He wasn't going to fight her over it? "In the church I… used to go to. No one's going to believe I ran away." She'd been such a good girl, once.

"You'll be surprised what people will believe. They will be glad to see you safe."

"I…" She realized she didn't want to see them again. What if they could see her shame somehow? They would be angry she'd gone without a word, if she told them what he had done they would hate him, call the cops but he could kill the cops, and it would all spiral out of control when she was hanging on by her fingernails. "Let's… not."

"You don't want to see them?" He looked surprised.

"You have enemies. They might take my family hostage. It's better if they don't know." She often wished she didn't know. If she knew anything… the children nosed at her again, hungry for her distress, and she let them take it as Sparda pet them, scratching gently with his nails.

Were they purring? Quietly, if so. "As you wish," he told her, somehow sadly.

"They look human," she said, for something to say.

"I used a spell to fix them in that form, so it would be easier on you."

"Thanks." She didn't want to see their true forms. She didn't want her children to remind her of their father any more than they already did. She could see them as the children of the kind man who caressed them, held her. She couldn't see them as the devil's children, and for that she was very grateful, because if she did she would be as divided as she was over him. Not quite. These two had never done anything to hurt her. She didn't want to not love them. She squeezed them tight, which they seemed to like.

He was still smiling. Well, he'd gotten what he wanted, hadn't he? Heirs, to save or damn the world. She was even going to stay with him willingly. But she would let him have her again over her dead body.

Would she… if it was a choice between him… doing that and leaving, would she choose to stay with the children?

She was terribly afraid she would.

Whore, devil's whore.

He wouldn't ask it of her. Right?

They were… little miracles, and now the pain was over and fading in her memory (she wanted to forget, and was more successful at forgetting this than _that_), it almost all seemed worth it.

Was this a trick, a spell? She had to… have faith. Love was love, right? Love conquered all, they said. She…

She would not love him. She would never love him. She had sworn it to herself, and she would keep that promise no matter what he did, so that if it was all a lie she would not be utterly fooled, even if she was.

"Should I take you back?" he asked.

"No." She shook her head. "I want to see the sky a little longer." But she didn't look at the sky she'd missed so much, she looked at them. Would she… would she never leave those rooms again? After they were baptized. He'd said they would be. "We're still going to baptize them." We?

"Yes."

She rocked them, and they were as active in her arms as in her tummy, changing their minds a lot. Sometimes they poked their heads up to look at the big world, the rest of the time they buried them under her breasts. They made little soft sounds, not crying. Little chirps, happy and confused. Happy. She wished she could be so purely happy. She was happy for them.

He was looking at her face now instead of the twins. Hungry?

There was water on her face.

She was crying. She sniffed and tried to stop the tears, but they still came.

She didn't fight, though maybe she should have, when he tugged her up, into his arms, and rocked her, the babies pressed between their bodies. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry."

"Don't say it, you're not, you got what you wanted."

"But I didn't. I ensured that I would never get what I want." He sighed. "I… I suppose, if you had been weak enough to be controlled by my spells, if you loved me, I would not respect you enough to fall in love. I would have sent you back to your family even if you wanted to stay. You… should go. It is selfish of me to let you stay."

"You're going to die. The children," she started.

"Yes, the children. Everything for that hope. They… I have doomed them. I have doomed you and what you love. I… It is a good thing you do not love me. You will not mourn when I die."

"How soon?" she asked.

"I do not know. It depends on how much the seal is overtaxed. When Mundus wakes they will start to test it… they should not realize that doing so harms me, but if they even suspect… Mundus might simply keep ordering them to try it even if it seems it does no good. He is rather pigheaded." He laughed.

She should really push him away. Keep that distance between them. He didn't have the right to hold her when she cried (she didn't know why she was crying, even) when before he had made her need to cry and denied her that right.

She hated him, she… she wouldn't even think that. But… she was afraid she was falling in love with the lie. There, she had admitted it to herself.

She… wanted the children to only know the lie. She didn't want them to know they were children of rape. She wanted them to stay happy, and innocent, and safe. And if that meant lying, humans lied.

His arms were warm and strong, and she wished this was real. She wished this kind, warm, wonderful man wasn't a rapist. But actions spoke louder than words, and no matter how she tried she couldn't, wouldn't forgive him.

"I said before, you can hurt me," he offered, guessing her thoughts. "You deserve to."

"You like being hurt. It's not a fair trade."

"No." He sighed. "I wish there was a fair trade. But it would not be rape, if it were you. The only way you can wound me as I deserve is by the way you are."

"I know." And she closed her eyes and wished she didn't derive a vicious satisfaction from his longing.

Wished she didn't long back.

Could she cry now because his spells were broken and the children were out of her?

He nuzzled her face, and it felt too intimate, too right, but it gave her the strength to push him away. Vergil ended up on his lap, and they both comforted the children who were suddenly without each other and a parent, notlooking at each other.

There was nothing to say that hadn't been said. They both knew.

But he was hurting and suddenly she couldn't stand that. "Sparda."

Sudden, terrible hope that made her want to justify it. "Eva?" he replied, hesitant, knowing it was too good to be true.

"You can call me that." A tiny gift, but one she could give.

"Eva?"

"Yes."

"Eva." And he smiled.

"Let's go home, Sparda. It's your fault I'm exhausted, so you can carry me. Give me Vergil." And she didn't flinch, not even inwardly, to be held helplessly in his arms.


	6. Chapter 8

_Disclaimer: I don't own Devil May Cry. _

_- _

They grew so quickly.

She'd helped with babies before, her aunt lived nearby, so she had a rough idea of how things should go. They were one, and looked older than that.

She knew how much time was passing now. Sparda had given her the freedom of the house and grounds, and oh it was a joy to see the sky, to be able to take walks that weren't from one side of her suite to the other, the pacing of a captive animal.

She felt like a lioness in the zoo, part of some breeding program. Was humanity the endangered species? She'd gotten him to tell her the whole story (searching for something to tell if it was true or false). He spoke like he had been there, telling a story that wasn't quite like any of the myths: wouldn't a liar stick to what she knew and had believed? At least what she had heard?

He remembered more details than a human would, after two thousand years.

He spoke of his victims, how towns would be ashes and corpses after his army passed, dragging off the survivors to be eaten later.

He told her this was accepted among his kind, that by their standards he was not a war criminal. But by human standards… and it was humans he had sinned against.

To betray his lord was his penance. He had (she wanted to believe, for the children) saved humanity. But he had still done horrible things. He mostly spoke of them either eyes averted, glancing at her, or looking into her eyes with honesty that made her hurt for him.

He wanted forgiveness, she realized. And they had not given it. He couldn't ask it of the dead: the survivors had not given it. Now, the world had forgotten, not forgiven his crimes. She had heard he was a lone knight, not one of Mundus' highest generals. A traitor.

So, he saw in her… one he had done his worst to. But she still lived. He wanted her forgiveness, felt that it would allow him to leave his guilt behind at last.

She might, one day, acknowledge it had been necessary. Only after she had seen the world saved by her children with her own eyes.

But she didn't have it in herself to forgive him.

She didn't want to be the kind of person who enjoyed taunting, causing others pain: what she had done to stay by the children had given him hope. And it cut at him, she could see, his mind knowing she wouldn't forgive him but his heart (and she knew he had a heart) wanting it.

He'd promised never to sin again and yet he had. He'd enjoyed it: it was his true nature. He was a beast, no matter how handsome and kind he acted. But sometimes he seemed as young and as lost as her. Sorrowful, ashamed.

She didn't want the children to know the shame of their birth. So she never showed her hate in front of them, tried to keep it crunched down in a little ball, until he told her they wouldn't wonder about the target of the hate they sensed, fed on. She pretended she had no animosity.

He didn't take advantage of it to kiss her, or anything, claiming it would support the pretense she wanted. She would have felt better about watching him suffer if he had.

The children called them Mommy and Daddy and never knew they had separate bedrooms.

Vergil.

Dante.

Her children.

She wanted to believe something good had come of this, she wanted them to grow up happy… she wanted to escape and raise them to never know they were not human. Vergil would kick his legs idly while he sat, and Dante liked to make noise when he was happy. Little annoying things that convinced her there was human in them. Despite the fact they looked so much like their Father.

Sparda had said if he hadn't had her he would have left them in a safe room somewhere, dropping animals in, until they were old enough to train. That was apparently how devil babies were raised. But that would be bad for humans. So she sang them songs (Dante loved that), and read them books even before they understood language, and hugged them even though she feared they would bite her.

Their faces lit up when she came to feed them, or to play, and they crawled, then walked, than ran to her.

They also rejoiced at his appearance. He seemed to favor Vergil, the elder, and Dante wasn't jealous, but came to her instead. She spoke harshly to Sparda about making Dante feel lesser, and he stopped. Vergil seemed to know this was her fault, and glared once, but couldn't stay mad when she hugged him, Dante making way and going shyly over to Sparda to be pet.

Sparda would rub their heads instead of hugging them, though he echoed her in kissing them on the cheeks. They closed their eyes and snuggled against him when he did that, humming happily.

She eventually realized that wasn't humming, but purring.

They were like a family, it was oddly domestic. Only she wasn't cooking or cleaning, the invisible servants did those things. And there weren't the things marriage implied, like love or sharing a bed. No, they were a family. There were children, they would be a family for them.

Sparda brought presents, and Eva was allowed television now. She wondered if this place would survive if there was a nuclear winter. Perhaps man was more dangerous to man than even demons were.

She clung to the threads of her faith, but… was that she still had faith, or that she wanted there to be a god? Wanted there to be a chance everything could be made to work out for the best? That he could give her the strength to forgive, as she knew the teachings told she should do. _Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us._ Would she be forgiven for becoming tainted if she could forgive Sparda? Or… she didn't _know_ anymore.

Not that she had _known_ before, but she'd had faith. She'd still had the children baptized, but it hadn't reassured her as much as it should have.

Sparda was glancing at her now, concerned, and she hoped he'd stop before the children picked up there was something wrong. What right did he have to be concerned for her? He'd gotten the children he claimed he needed so badly.

And yet, he was. He coddled her, almost, giving her the best of everything. To seduce her, make her forgive him? That as well, but he didn't want to hurt her anymore. He was in love with forgiveness, not her. And that stung. Did he see her at all? Or was she just a brood mare and his chance at redemption? She'd wanted to help redeem people once. Now she needed that help herself. This had… tired her. She felt all worn out, burnt up.

Had to smile, for the children, and it was easy to smile at them. They were her chance, she knew somehow. She would save them, even if she couldn't save herself. No, even if it didn't save her she wanted to save them. She wanted them to be always able to smile like this, so innocent and happy.

They were resting their heads on Sparda's lap now as he read them a story and she paged through a book, not really seeing it. Vergil was blinking: needing a nap but not wanting his parents to go away. Dante was more awake, entranced by the tale.

They looked so angelic.

If only she had… or he had waited, convinced her (but he had known he couldn't convince her), or… if only this was real.

"Eva? Are you all right?" Sparda asked quietly. She jumped, startled out of her reverie by the sound of her name. The children as well were looking at her now.

She smiled weakly. "I'm fine," she assured them. "Just tired. I think I'll take a nap. Vergil, Dante, you should nap too. Put them to bed for me, Sparda?"

He nodded. "As you say." He picked up the children after setting the book aside, a bookmark so they could pick up in an hour or so.

"But Mommy," Vergil protested, "We were just getting to the part where he meets the Green Knight again!"

"When you're not so tired you'll be able to listen better, Vergil. You don't want to doze off and miss any, do you?" This was so ordinary. It made her heart feel like it was breaking. She loved them, and living this lie… had to keep the truth from them. She couldn't bear for them to look at their beloved parents and see… No, they never would.

Sparda's guilt meant he might let it out. She'd made it very clear she'd hate him forever _more_ if he did.

Dante had asked how they met once. She'd said it was mushy stuff and he wouldn't be interested, and that dissuaded him. They didn't ask about family other than their parents. Sparda never talked about his either. Did he even have a family? She wasn't going to ask. If he was a fallen angel than he didn't, but if demons and devils were like the creatures of earth, only different, than he had to have come from somewhere. The picture that came to her mind was something like a beehive, since he looked like an insect, but she quelled the thought, as it led to unpleasant places.

"I guess not," Vergil agreed.

He gave her, and the children, everything they wanted but he couldn't buy her forgiveness. He didn't seem to… really understood why she withheld it. Well, if rape was just fine among demons, like he had said, then he just didn't get it. He never would. And as long as he though he was justified he would never be truly sorry, truly regret it, and until then he didn't deserve to be forgiven.

But forgiveness wasn't supposed to be about deserving it, it was a gift to yourself. Leave justice to God.

"I'm not tired," Dante objected since Sparda was taking them both to their room.

If his kind of devil had souls, which he said they did, then when they died… what would happen? Did he know? She didn't ask that either. Tried not to think about it at all, it made her angry, sad, tired and she had to stay cheerful for the children, they were so unhappy when she was unhappy.

Luckily they believed her when she said she was all right. Was suppressed rage and pain normal for demons?

"You will be soon, Dante," Sparda told him. "Sleep now, and then you can listen with Vergil."

"Okay, Daddy."

It never would be for her children.

She put the book she hadn't read away and left the room, walking slowly to her new rooms. She hadn't wanted to stay in the suite Sparda had imprisoned her in one more day, if she had the option.

She'd told him that and she was on the opposite side of the castle now.

She shut the door and leaned against it, feeling relieved. This was her space: no one else was allowed her, Sparda or the invisible servants.

There had been a box of chocolates and a vase of flowers on the table by her door. Fresh flowers every day: even when she'd been imprisoned.

It enraged her, because those (and jewelry, which she had refused) were the gifts a husband who had offended his wife gave, and she knew he saw her as that on some level, by instinct and how he had been raised, though he knew better. He wanted to comfort her but how could he when he was what she was scared of?

Sympathy for the devil.

She wished things were different, she wished the pretence was real, but it never would be.


	7. Chapter 9

_Disclaimer: I don't own Devil May Cry. _

_-_

Sparda had been gone this afternoon. He often disappeared, off to do whatever it was he did, spells or fighting demons, or other things. She didn't ask, just enjoyed the time alone with the children. They missed him when he wasn't there, Vergil especially. Dante, these past few times, might be picking up on the fact she was more comfortable, laughed more easily, when he wasn't there. The boy was perceptive and when he was curious he never dropped it. This was worrying her. She'd think of something to tell him, people who didn't really understand lies were not that hard to outwit with a good story.

But Dante had human in him. He'd tried to lie once, about a piece of cake. He'd done it very badly. She'd laughed.

Sparda was back now, standing in the door of the room and looking very worried. And not by her. The only other thing that worried him was the invasion he predicted. This looked like bad worrying. Had something gone wrong?

"Eva?" Why was he trying to get her attention? He had it.

"Yes?"

"May I speak to you… hello, Vergil, Dante." They had run over and attached themselves to his legs. He bent down to pet their heads, the smile not quite erasing the worry: it seemed to deepen. "May I speak with you for a moment?"

"What is it?"

He glanced significantly at the twins. Not in front of the children.

Bad news.

"Vergil, Dante." Eva clapped her hands for attention. "Go to your room and stay there, okay? The adults need to talk."

"But Mommy…"

"Boys…" she said warningly. "Shoo."

They looked up at Sparda in hopes he would intervene. "Do as your mother says," he told them, pushing them gently away from his legs.

They sighed theatrically and walked slowly to their room, looking over their shoulder.

Sparda closed it behind them, locked it, and frowned. "Perhaps we should go elsewhere."

Eva nodded. They could hear through the door perfectly well, and were probably standing with their ears to it.

Sparda led her though the house, walking quickly. They arrived in a sitting room, one of the many scattered about. Then he stopped, turned to her, and seemed to be trying to work himself up to it.

"What is it?" she asked bluntly. The sooner he said it the sooner she could, hopefully, get back to the children. She did _not _like being alone with him like this. Her eyes noted all the exits, though if he… there was no hope of escape. He wouldn't, but she still feared. He wouldn't, right?

"I'm dying," he told her.

An odd mix of horror and jubilation filled her. He would be gone soon? But what about the children? They would need someone to teach them, if they were going to save the world. Maybe there were others? "When?"

"I don't know." He looked at his hand. "The seal has been draining me for a long time: it's not a good thing to be split like this as well. I thought I had… perhaps twenty years left, if I kept losing power at the rate I had been. Long enough to teach them at least the basics, and to do at least some of the fighting with them. Until my weakness made me die in battle."

"Twenty! You thought you had twenty and you…" she bit it back, glaring. She shouldn't be cruel to the dying.

"For us, that is a short time. Very short. Our children can take centuries to come to full power. Half-breeds tend to grow as humans do, but… since… I wanted them to _live, _and I needed time for every lesson I could manage."

And that was why he had… done it instead of trying to convince her, though she knew he had know he wouldn't have been able to. But he could have at least…! He could have kept her unconscious, so she would never know what happened… but that would have meant the children couldn't feed on her, and that would have meant that he needed to supply everything, and that would have drained him faster… he'd told her all this, when he was trying to convince her it had been right, what he'd done.

At least he had the grace to stop doing that. Until now. But he knew he'd said too much, and his eyes apologized. "Recently, I started losing power faster. I can hardly maintain my devil form for any decent length of time, and it's harder to feed. I don't know much about how my kind ages or is ill in a manner like this: the sick do not live long, and if this were my realm I would be dead by now, I would have sought death in battle in some useful way. My body, at least."

"Your body?"

"When I die, my soul will seek out the rest of itself, and sleep in my sword until the seal breaks, then some power will return. Not enough to resurrect me, enough that my devil arm would empower the user."

"Devil arm?"

"The term for the weapon or item that guards a strong soul when the body is lost. Not all have them, preferring, if killed and defeated, to die instead of serve their enemy, for that is how they are usually gained. I have several. Yamato is one."

"Oh."

"To form one when you are still alive is to split yourself in two…"

"I'm sorry," she interrupted him, "but I don't get it at all and unless it really matters, could we get back to what we were talking about?" Rude, but… even if he deserved it, she shouldn't be rude.

"I'm sorry." He bowed slightly, as he did sometimes. It was one more thing that annoyed her. He was sorry, he was always sorry. But not enough. "I think the rate at which I am getting weaker will increase, perhaps exponentially. Not being able to get enough to eat will weaken anyone."

"So, how soon?"

"If it were left to nature? Simply, soon. Perhaps months. Or it might return to the old rate. There are no spells to help this I do not already use." He shook his head.

"So what happens when you die? Demons attack us?"

He shook his head. "They do not know you exist. That is your safety. And it will take them some time to realize I am dead. I have shields on Vergil and Dante that will hide the fact they are my children, and you… do not have enough of a connection to me to need to be shielded like that. Which is good, for your powers erode my spells quickly, as they erased the record that you bore my children."

_Good,_ she thought, grateful for that. So her… soul? Whatever they looked at, was free of him. And she wouldn't need any spells.

"I have created records," he went on, having seen that flash of happiness in her. "That say you are someone else, though you keep the name Eva, and I think it would be best if I brought a house for you somewhere. Wherever you would like. You could say you are a widow. I think the children would understand not to speak of me, if we explained their safety depends on it."

Widow implied marriage. But it was better than having children out of wedlock. She could say she was raising them for someone else, a foster parent, but she didn't want to deny them, just him. "They're smart," she agreed. To never be reminded of him. But no. "Isn't there anyone you can send them to? For training?"

"There is, but… I doubt they could keep two of such power secret. I will give you swords, guns for them. The weapons themselves can teach them much." He swallowed. "It… it will have to do." He had already started teaching them the basics, positions and strikes and such things, though their small size was a problem. They could shoot well. Amazingly well, to Eva's eyes: she watched and clapped for them. "There is something I can do, but I will wait on that."

"What?" she asked, suspicious.

"Die. Would you like to be the one to kill me?" He looked hopeful.

"What!"

"A willing sacrifice has power. The priestess' created the seal, mine would strengthen it, enough to buy more time. If not, it will most likely fail when I perish, having not the strength to empower it any longer."

She made her hands fists to keep them from trembling. "Thou shalt not kill."

"Even if I want to die?"

"That's suicide, a mortal sin." She looked at him. "Why do you want me to kill you?"

"You have the right," he told her quietly, eyes showing his sincerity.

"It's not that. You want to pay with your life for what you did. How romantic." Part of her wanted this. Could she make him scream? No, he didn't mind pain. How would it happen? Would she pierce his heart with his own sword?

"I'll do it myself if you don't want to feel guilty." He looked away, sad.

"I wouldn't feel guilty." Wasn't this what she wanted? Him gone, this castle and those rooms far behind her, alone with the children. She wanted it.

"Then, will you?" Hope, there, and she wanted to break it.

"Why do you want me to?"

"Because I want to pay for this with my life."

"Pay. You're not doing this for me. I wanted to kill you before and you didn't let me scratch you. You'd doing this for the same reason you raped me. You just want me to kill you so you'll feel better as you die. You want to stop feeling guilty. No, you're not even really guilty. You're more… I don't think you're capable of guilt."

"I know I have done wrong." His head was bowed.

"But you _feel_ you have done right. All of this. You're trying to win me over, you want me to remember you as a hero. And when you get brought back to life again, eventually, you want me to remember your sacrifice, and have seen that what you did was necessary, and have decided, not to forgive you, but that you did the right thing all along and there was nothing to forgive." Her voice was rising. "That you're a _hero,_ who sacrificed his _honor_ for the good of humanity instead of the kind of person, no, not person, _devil, _that can rape a woman and _enjoy _it." Her glare was full force now, all her hate in her eyes.

His head remained bowed. "You are right. More. I wanted to ask you a favor in return. I am not… I can ask nothing of you, not even death. For… No. I will go, and let you get back to the children. I will work on finding you a house, and moving books it will help the children to study there."

"What favor?" she snarled.

"A… there are two powers that humans have that my kind dismisses. The power to cry, for one. To willingly throw away all that power?" He shook his head. Incomprehensible. "The other, to lie."

"I'm already lying for you to the children. What, was that it? You wanted me to tell them you were a hero, never let them know what you did? I would have done that anyway. Not for you, for them."

"No, nothing that unselfish." He shook his head.

"You're ashamed," she realized, and was glad. "Tell me."

"I wanted for, for you to pretend, for a day, that you loved me. Soon, I could not feel otherwise. I would have died happy, then."

"You. Scum. Happy? With the children, and me left behind, and… I _want_ to kill you," she snarled. "I want to hurt you. You've made me the kind of person that wants to hurt, and I _hate_ you for it. I'll always hate you."

"I thought, that you were… you don't hate me as much."

"Stop. Paying. Attention," she ordered him. "_Damn_ you."

"Yes," he agreed. And his head still looked down and he looked like he wanted to curl up and die.

Not that distant look of regret, no pleading, simply shame and the honest admission he had done something wrong. He truly regretted it. "I'll do it. Both of them."

His head jerked up, meeting her eyes, and there was no triumph or happiness, otherwise she would have taken her words back, simply shock. "…what?"

"You heard me."

"Are you lying?"

"No. I might change my mind, though," she warned him.

"I shall expect that, then."


	8. Chapter 10

_Disclaimer: I don't own Devil May Cry. _

_We shall see, but it looks like the hiatus might be over, at least for now. Three more chapters left after this one. _

_-_

He had given her jewelry, and yet another new dress. Her ears weren't pierced: the earrings clipped on but weren't play jewelry. Red roses, carved ruby and gold. A necklace as well, and studded bangles, but no rings. He had some shame, at least.

How far did he want her to go in lying? Simply to pretend? She would not say the words, ever. She would not lie that much. It was a sin.

The dress was black, and there was a red shawl to set around her shoulders. Nothing indecent. A widow's dress, but the shawl was a vibrant color. Heart still beating? Or was it for blood and war, further death? Her favorite color was gold, like her hair.

Her hair that she was brushing out. She'd woken up at six, as usual, and there had been a note inviting her to breakfast at seven. The presents had been outside the door under the note. At least he hadn't taken the liberty of intruding on her space.

He wasn't demanding the _whole_ day, it seemed, not midnight to midnight. Plenty of time to dress and bathe. It seemed a good beginning. She was tired, it had been hard to fall asleep last night, she'd been so anxious. He had seemed truly sorry. Surely he wouldn't take advantage of this?

She could at least expect to be kissed. No bad memories of kissing, at least. She'd never been kissed. A mother for over two years now, and never been kissed. It seemed a minor injustice.

Really, if she'd said yes… the man he pretended to be was a great catch. Wealthy, cultured, considerate… pretend the lie was real. Live the lie, for a day. Her beloved husband.

She took a deep breath and told herself not to be afraid.

Why was she doing this again? Lying was a sin. But… for once, he had been truly repentant. She should encourage that. Was it not customary to grant the dying man a last request?

She'd dreamed of it, plunging his sword into his black heart: she'd tried to wrestle it from him on several occasions in the beginning.

The dress wasn't indecent, even. But then, he'd said he didn't find her attractive, a weak human except for the damned magic in her that had caused this fate. Her children, she didn't regret them, but she wished they had been conceived in love instead of hate from her and whatever it was from him: she didn't think he was capable of love, devil that he was. Though he was skilled at lying to himself. Guilt, respect… at least he was repentant.

Love meant he wanted to do _that_ again. She was glad he was going to die soon, she was. She could stop being afraid then. Well, there were his enemies, she had no idea how much of a threat they were to her and her children. Still, he'd claimed his death would protect them.

When she was done, she went to the children's room first. They looked at her with wide eyes. "What?" Eva asked, smiling.

"You're really pretty, Mommy." Dante grinned. Vergil nodded, stunned.

"What, you thought I was ugly before?"

"Well, uh…" Dante looked at Vergil.

"You never try to be pretty. You make us be pretty sometimes and Father always is, but you don't," Vergil explained. "It's cool! You should be pretty more." Dante nodded so forcefully it looked like his head would fly off.

"It's just for today, but yes, I will try to be pretty more from now on." That was true, she had been deliberately frumpy. She didn't want to look too attractive in front of that devi-Sparda. She was pretending, today. "Your father and I are going to have a date today."

"A date?" Dante asked curiously.

"It's like a party, but for two people who," she tried desperately to think of what to say next. It would be a lie to say 'in love' or 'who like each other very much,' even. 'Are married or are going to be married?' They weren't married and never would be.

She had a moment's image of Sparda wanting her to pretend long enough for a ceremony, to feed this… obsession with her, desire to own her. No, he wouldn't do that. "Who have children or are thinking about a relationship." There, that worked.

"A party? And we can't come?" They were giving her the cute eyes. They always made her melt. Melt, but not give in.

"No, you cannot." She picked them up. "Now, come on, I'll take you to the playroom. You can stay there while your father and I have our date."

"Stay there without you there?" Dante looked excited.

"Now, don't wreck _too_ many of you toys, okay?" She raised an eyebrow at them.

"Father always buys us new ones." Dante shrugged. Vergil looked like he agreed. "And it's fun to break stuff."

"He might not always buy you whatever you want. Where would you be if you broke all the balls and there weren't any more?" They were getting heavy, but she wanted to hold them: they made her worries go away, at least those about Sparda. Her boys, in so much danger their father was willing to die to buy them time… how would she be able to manage on her own?

She'd manage, she told herself.

She met Sparda in the hall, froze for an instant, then smiled at him and carried on. She could feel him smiling at the back of her head, a real smile not one pasted over worry or a polite one, an injured one. She'd smiled at him, and that was enough to make him happy, even if it was just an act.

He followed her. "Father!" Vergil waved. "Can we come on your date?"

"Date? Well, no, I'm sorry. Dates are for two people, not for children. When you grow up, you will have your own dates." He caught up to her and patted Vergil, then Dante on the head. "This is time for your mother and I. We can't only play with you."

Dante frowned, then nodded at Vergil. "We don't want them there sometimes when we just want to play with each other, so it's fair."

Vergil pouted, looking at his father. Dante frowned at him and then Vergil stopped.

Finally, they were at the playroom: her arms were getting tired. Even with the muscles she had from carrying them around, they were reaching the point she wouldn't be able to carry them very far anymore. She put them down and took a bunch of toys off the shelves, then turned to Sparda. "So…" she started to ask, then saw he was sitting down and holding out his hands to the boys, Vergil running over to him and Dante following.

"Do you mind if we play with them as usual? Dates are traditionally in the evening, are they not? You don't have to wear that dress all day, it's an evening dress."

She nodded. "I'll stay in it, though." And she smiled at him, trying to lie with her eyes as well as her lips, though she was genuinely pleased she wasn't going to have to spend the whole day just with him. The children were a joy as well, they would remind her why she was doing this. Of the various reasons she was doing this.

"Yay!" Dante said, and hugged her. "Mommy, let's play toss the ball!"

"Okay, Dante. If it's okay with you, dear?" She smiled at Sparda again.

She saw his smile this time, and if it weren't for her memories she might have fallen in love at the sight of it. "As you wish."

Even lunchtime was spent with the children, Dante telling them all a joke he had made up. She laughed and it was nice, though she still had a knot of worry in her stomach. She told herself that no, she was going to be glad to kill Sparda, but… vengeance was God's not hers, but then he had asked her too… that was another part of his last wish. It was repentance, if she could not offer absolution and she had no hope he would be saved.

That, she was sorry about, no one should go to hell, even a demon, especially not when they would hate him there, torture him not for what he did to her (which he would have deserved), but for saving humanity (if he truly was Sparda, but she would believe that for today), which he should be blessed for.

He had done this to her to save humanity (or so he claimed). If only the ends justified the means, but a sin was a sin. He could have chosen someone else, some witch who would have worshipped him and been willing. She might not have been as strong, but it wouldn't have been rape.

They played, and she tried to laugh and smile. She noticed Dante smiling at her and asked, "What are you so happy about?"

"You're happy. You're never this happy." He hugged her. "I'm glad Mommy is happy. You should have more dates." He frowned. "Do you not have them because we keep you busy all the time? I'm sorry." His eyes begged for forgiveness. "I'll make Vergil be good so you can!"

"Hey!" Vergil glared at him.

"No, it's not you." She hugged him. "Though I'm not going to object to something that makes you well-behaved," she added, tapping his nose. Dante laughed and hugged her again, before going back to the tic-tac-toe championship of the universe.

Eventually, however, it was dinner time, and they fed the children, covered them with blankets in the playroom to sleep off the amount they had gobbled down, then Sparda closed the door and they looked at each other.

He went down on one knee, an anciently courtly gesture like the knight he claimed to be and acting on the prompting of some memory of how these things went she held out her hand: he kissed it, and she wondered if she was blushing.

After… after the deed had been done he had treated her like spun glass, had admired her for retaining her sanity. He _honored_ her by this, and it did strike a cord.

He truly was sorry, wasn't he?

He held out his arm for her and she took it, and they walked in silence to the dining room where a splendid meal was laid out, all her favorites, and she realized that what he wanted wasn't for her to lie, but to essentially be a still target, let him shower her with affection without objecting or dodging it, let him try to prove his love, or at least spoil her rotten.

He pulled out her chair for her, as he always did, and bowed her into it.

Music played softly, something she didn't know the name of but liked: classical. The room was lit by a chandelier and more candles on the table, a small one for two. She tried not to show her discomfort at being this close to him, especially with a chair to get in her way if she tried to run. She told herself there was a table in between them, that it was as safe as anything here was. And smiled, again.

He didn't eat, just looked at her, and she tried not to show that it made her nervous. He, noticing her discomfort, adopted that poker face, which was much less scary than him looking at her like she was besotted. She tried to look at him, though, remembering their bargain, and smile, and think about he was truly, utterly beautiful as only an angel or a devil could be.

Eventually they started talking, about nothing really, just the small talk of two normal people, and he was indeed intelligent and an interesting conversationalist. She wished she could have this without her skin crawling.

When she finished, there was dessert, and he pulled out her chair for her and knelt to kiss her hand again, and she could almost feel his emotions as he could feel hers, and had to suppress panic and cursed: this would certainly break the bargain!

But he only offered her his arm, and she thought perhaps he had done the equivalent of closing his eyes to that sense, because she knew her feelings would have made him shudder and turn away, utterly dejected, otherwise. Letting her feelings be felt was one of the ways she had of punishing him.

She was glad, she wanted him to have his illusion, have his perfect day, as close to perfection as he could ever come, and was glad she was this kind, to want her rapist to have this, she truly was (almost) as capable of forgiveness as she should be.

Perhaps she could forgive him when he was dead and wasn't there to terrify her anymore.

She kissed him on the cheek when he led her to her door, then reconsidered: she could lie once more, and kissed him on the mouth.

Just a brief press of lips, no more, her first and last kiss, and his face was like the sunrise. Then he bowed, hiding it, and bid her good night.


	9. Chapter 11

_Disclaimer: I do not own Devil May Cry, though I own all three games, Sound DVDs, manga, novels, comics, Revoltech figure, little DMC2 figures... I'm not making money, Capcom is. _

_-_

So, here they were.

Down that hall, the second door on the left was the room in which the rituals had been performed on her. The door had been open and she'd glanced in and recognized it, shuddering at the memory. It strengthened her resolve, which was a good thing.

Before, she wanted him dead, but now when he'd finally learned remorse… now there was a chance he might be redeemed, she was growing uncertain about killing him. She didn't want even him to go to hell and suffer what would feel like an eternity without God's presence, and then be destroyed on Judgment Day.

Especially since they would do their worst to him, if he truly was Sparda.

Something in her said this was her fault somehow, which was nonsense. She was the victim here, and he was choosing to die. She would merely do the deed, and she would do it quickly and cleanly despite how much he deserved to suffer, what she had fantasized about.

These stone rooms, either hollowed out beneath the castle or natural caves altered to seem planned, were where he did his magic, where his death would take place.

He led her into a room that was clearly a natural cave, though it had been altered. There was an alter at the center, in an odd shape. There was an odd design on the floor, glowing, and objects were placed on points within it. It seemed that everything was prepared.

"Eva?" he said finally, after letting her look around the room.

"Yes?"

"Here." He lifted up a sword from a niche in the wall. "Use this, it will answer to the hand of a human without testing: it is a demon blade, but will work faster than a human weapon would."

"A demon blade?" It looked odd, but not obviously unholy. She would have thought it was made of normal steel: it was thin and delicate, like the blade a fencer would use, and the handle had a flowing design that looked somewhat like leaves guarding the grip.

"It will not do anything for you, it was created for a human to use. The energies will not touch you and cause corruption," he assured her. "I have a normal sword, but it would take longer."

"Take longer?" she asked, not liking what she thought that statement meant.

"To kill me."

"Wait a minute, I thought, well, you never actually said, but I thought I would be," killing you with one blow.

"I have to be at full strength when the ritual starts, and the energy caused by the damage to me will enable it to work better. If you wish, I could injure myself, and reserve the final blow for you."

She winced at that idea. She didn't like people being hurt and though she'd considered it, suicide revolted her because of the idea of self-harm as well as the eternal damnation that accompanied it. Besides, that was the deal, right? A day of her pretending they were a happy couple in exchange for her getting to kill him.

She was tempted to take advantage of it, to put in blows that wouldn't be fatal but would hurt. Castrating him was a particularly attractive thought.

She'd paid for this, she should see it through.

This was his penance, she realized. He wanted to give her his death.

People had flagellated themselves, hurt themselves in penance for sins: the pain of Purgatory allowed you to pay for your sins and go to heaven. Sparda didn't love God, he didn't want God to forgive him: he wanted her to. He was offering her his pain in the hope of… no, not in that hope. He knew she could not forgive him, even if she tried. She was not that saintly. He simply wanted her to have it. He had said that demons fed on pain, the torment of souls, so… The death of a devil must be a princely gift.

He held two swords out to her now, one unornamented, utterly workmanlike and practical: she could tell it was a good blade, a normal, human blade.

But with that one, it would take him longer to die.

She wanted him dead, but she didn't want to be a torturer, and for some reason, now… perhaps that frankness when he had confessed his ulterior motive had convinced her that he was capable of honesty despite his nature, that he was Sparda, that he had needed to do what he had done. It didn't make it right, he was fallible, but he thought he had done… a horrible thing, but he had seen that it was the thing to do that was most likely to succeed in protecting humanity, and was that not a noble cause?

She had wanted to believe all along that this was simple, that he was simply lying, the devil, evil, because he had done evil to her. She hadn't wanted to think she should forgive him, that… it was complicated.

The second most horrible thing he had done to her, worse than the torture but not worse than the key act, was to fall in love with her.

She took the demon sword.

Sparda put the other one away. "Everything is prepared. I will lie here," he said, indicating the alter, "and you will strike until I, or at least, my body, is killed. Then my soul will go to the sword and maintain the seal for as long as I can." He laid a hand on the alter and, not looking at her, told her, "Eva, you don't have to do this if you do not wish to."

"I paid for it, didn't I?" With more than just the pretense.

He knew she had, but, "If you do not wish to, then don't feel you must for my sake. You owe me nothing. You have already been far more generous than any other human would have been in your place. It is my fault, I… I knew you would hate me, but I felt, my instincts said that you would react as a demoness would, admire my strength, and… You would have made a wonderful nun, Eva. I think you are already a saint."

"No, I'm not. I can't forgive you, and a saint would. I want to kill you, that's why I gave you that day. Otherwise, I never would have."

"You are strong. If you had been weak and fallen for your captor, as I have seen humans do, I would not have admired you and your emotion would not have been returned."

"I figured."

"Then, if you were sure."

She wasn't sure, but she was going to do this.

He lay on the alter, not looking at her until he was settled, then he closed his eyes in acquiescence.

She walked over, and when she was standing over him looked at the sword in her right hand. What would kill him the quickest? His head, throat, heart (groin)?

His face was detached, she envied him the ability to turn off his display of emotion. Though, he seemed to be concentrating, perhaps on the spell being cast? She wished she knew what he was feeling. Though she knew he was as much at peace as he had been for years.

She should not delay this. "I'm going to start," she told him, positioning the sword over his heart. Yes, that would be what she would strike at, the heart that dared wish for her to succumb.

"Yes," he answered, and she knew he meant thank you.

It was harder than she thought it would be. She meant to stab down cleanly, but there was a rib in the way and she had push hard to get through it. She'd never been one of those people who fainted at the sight of blood, but she didn't think she could have done this if he had been human.

As it was, she felt detached, and thought that he must have chosen human form for this because she must not have the strength to get a sword through the carapace of his devil form.

She made a lot of cuts going in, but they quickly vanished, the blood stopped flowing and the flesh closed up around her sword. She drew it out, and there was nothing to mark the damage she had done but blood staining his clothes and the cut in them. He wasn't wearing his normal outfit, simply black pants and a white dress shirt. Strange, death should be a formal event. This was his funeral, his deathbed.

She went for the throat next: much easier to cut, and she wondered if the ordinary sword would have cut this easily, though she had muscles from carrying the twins and doing most of the work of taking care of them.

Again, the flesh healed around her sword after the initial blood flow, so she wiggled it back and forth. There was no pain on his face.

"How much damage am I actually doing?"

His eyes opened. "Not very much. We are much harder to kill than humans: blood is simple to replace. If you slashed, it would work better. Focus you will, and it will cut through even my bone like butter." They closed again.

She followed his advice, slashing: it did indeed go through him. Again, again, and soon enough his clothes were in ribbons. Her only reactions were the momentary interruptions of his breathing when she destroyed something crucial to it.

Focus, but on what? Her anger kept rising to the surface, and she found herself thinking of vengeance, but vengeance was God's, not hers. Wrath was one of the seven deadly sins for a reason. She tried to focus on ending this, tried to focus all her hate into him, so that it would die with him and she could be pure of it, that he would not be there to remind her of her defilement, of his torment of her: that he not debase her love of her children, that she would be able to stop seeing him and his crimes in the faces of innocents and be able to love them purely as they deserved.

She wanted him to feel that as this body died so did his guilt, for he was tormenting himself and she was tired of it, tired of everything.

Blood splattered on the plain black dress she wore, nothing fancy, none of the beautiful things he loved to give her (trying to buy her, no, trying to delight her) for this, they would be ruined.

She would burn this dress in a fireplace after this. Let everything be dead and buried, let only her and her children go on. And the world he had done all this to save, and was it worth it? She had thought it not worth her suffering. No, she was not worth the world. She would have been willing to die, but…

Jesus had died for humanity, but Sparda would not take days to die, and he was no Jesus. Jesus had harmed none. Jesus had not sinned as Sparda had. The thought of connecting them was ludicrous, blasphemous.

Perhaps this truly was the end of days, the Emperor of Hell about to rise again: Jesus had come when Mundus invaded, would the second coming happen now? The world would be doomed then, her children would perhaps be doomed to fail. She didn't want them to fail, she wanted them to live.

They would be so sad that their father had died, and they would never know why, never know that he had died for them: they would not have that guilt. They would never know his crimes, her crime (for she was murdering him, even if it was by his own will).

His white shirt was almost all stained now, and she cut him in a way sure to get blood on the last piece. His white hair was splattered, and still he seemed too pristine, too perfect, devil that he was, black heart that he had.

It took a while for her to notice that the breathing had stopped.

From the sight of her first stab, a purple light rose, and she thought it beautiful. It floated up, and then vanished.

Everything stopped glowing except the light in the ceiling, and she was alone with a corpse.

It was done, he was dead, she tried to tell herself that chapter of life was over, that now she was free to live for the children.

Even so, it felt like the center of her life had gone: he had stolen her entire destiny and written it. She felt anchorless now, drifting, like something that she had grown to rely on was gone, like she was missing an arm.

She put the sword down on top of him and watched him for a while.

Then she left and closed the door.


	10. Chapter 12

_Disclaimer: I don't own Devil May Cry: Capcom makes money, not I. _

_Here's the second-to-last chapter of As The Trumpets Sound. I would have preferred this to be an oneshot but I couldn't do what I wanted in an oneshot, so… _

"_An oneshot" is correct but sounds wrong when you say it out loud: oneshot is pronounced like wunshot, or at least I say it thus, and "an wunshot" would be incorrect. Just a teeny, irrelevant musing on the vagaries of grammar. _

_-_

She had expected the children to know, somehow, that Sparda was dead, but they didn't. When she went to play with them the next morning, Vergil kept glancing at the door waiting for Sparda to come, but they were all used to him vanishing, sometimes for days at a time, on mysterious business: fending off demons according to him.

She _wanted_ to believe that, it made her suffering less pointless. The memories of what had preceded the event had faded with time, but the event itself was still clear as day in her nightmares.

The next day, and the next, and Vergil and Dante looked at each other, clearly missing their father, but they didn't bother to ask Mommy when he would be back or where he was: Mommy never knew. Mommy had not wanted to hear lies and had wanted to enjoy his absence and alone time with the children without counting the days until his return.

Sparda had given her papers when he said he was going to die.

The only contact she had with the outside world over these years was the things Sparda brought them: dresses in the latest fashion for her, movies for them to watch together, toys for the children.

She was now going to have to interact with people again, and the thought terrified her.

It would need to be done, there was no getting around it. Now that the rest of the castle was opened to her, she watched the men delivering food through an upper window one day before hesitantly going down to talk to them, fearful they would see her shame on her face.

They were polite, but didn't speak English. But they managed to get across that she should come back the next day and a man came who did, the manager of these lands, which had been given to Sparda centuries ago.

She didn't know anything about business, but was glad to know there was no shortage of money and that the food would keep coming: Sparda had told her this and it was in the papers but it was different to hear it from an actual human.

He seemed to take her for a recluse, as the Lord her husband had been, and she realized she was content to stay a recluse.

Except for having the local church's priest come to the castle for a double baptism.

Neither Vergil or Dante reacted to the holy water. What they did react to was the presence of a strange man. They hid behind her. She cajoled them into coming out and doing the ceremony, and the priest left with questions in his eyes that she didn't answer.

She _wanted_ to confess. She wanted it like water in a desert, but to tell anyone this story, even a priest… she knew the words were too heavy to pass her lips, would drag her down into hell like the mortal sins they were, or weren't.

She just… didn't know anymore. She felt empty, except for the children. She lived for them.

Dante was the one to finally ask, on Vergil's behalf. "Mommy?"

"Yes, Dante?" she'd answered distractedly.

He pulled at her, glancing over at Vergil. She got the message that he wanted to whisper to her and not have Vergil overhear. She bent down.

"Daddy, Daddy's not coming back, is he," Dante whispered softly, hands cupped around her ear.

"I don't think so, Dante," she whispered back. "He's been gone too long."

"Why?"

"I can't tell you." She shrugged, and Dante clearly interpreted that to mean 'I don't know.'

"Do you think he's, um, dead?" Dante said this really quietly, _really_ not wanting Vergil, who was reading, to overhear.

"I'm afraid so."

Dante glanced at Vergil. "Don't tell Vergil."

"We're going to have to talk about it as a family eventually. Cheer up, he might come back."

"Yeah, he said about his soul going into the sword if he dies!" Dante exclaimed, cheering up, and completely forgetting about keeping things quiet so Vergil wouldn't hear.

Vergil heard. "The sword? Are you talking about Father?" His eyes narrowed. They had been talking about Father without him! Keeping secrets! Dante wasn't allowed to keep secrets from him!

Dante did a full-body wince. "Um, Mommy doesn't think he's coming back."

Vergil nodded, pouting. "I figured that out, I'm not stupid. Father wouldn't leave us alone so long unless he couldn't help it. So he's dead or Mundus captured him. So we have to grow up quick and rescue him." He looked incredibly cutely determined.

So, they'd both guessed, but hadn't told each other because they didn't want the other one to be sad?

"Yeah!" Dante agreed, and went back over to read the book with Vergil. Eva kept cooking. She liked cooking for them instead of the meals just appearing, even if she'd been horribly out of practice at first and had needed to trail and error her way to the boys' favorites. At least Dante wasn't gagging at her cooking anymore.

After fifteen minutes they ran off to the 'playroom,' which was essentially a big open area clearly meant for practicing fencing, to whack at each other. She didn't watch them do that: Sparda had encouraged them in it and taught them some basic things. She couldn't stand seeing the blood fly everywhere, though they barely noticed the wounds until they'd reached the point where they got tired. Sparda had told them to always stop then, it meant they were about to run out of healing energy, and if they were out then they would _stay_ wounded, and might even die.

She had to rely on two kids knowing when to quit, and some magic items that were supposed to bring them back if they kept at it too long.

Eva decided she was better off not knowing what they got up to in that room, that and the shooting range.

It was odd, though, that they adapted so readily to losing someone they loved. Perhaps it was their heritage? Perhaps they wouldn't miss her or anyone else? Would they be able to care about humans?

With how violent they were towards each other, she didn't trust them around normal children, even though they needed to make friends. She knew what ran through her at the thought of losing them, she didn't want any other parents to face the reality of that loss because of her.

Though, she told herself, they had clearly accepted it, or mostly done so, some time ago.

She had pictured them crying together in her arms when they realized their father wasn't coming back. Now she saw each of them crying alone, not wanting their brother to see them crying and realize why and be sad as well.

That demonstrated empathy, at least, the desire to protect the other, for them to be happy. Dante had wanted to know so he could help Vergil.

They were very bright, both of them had made plans and worked to get information: Dante's focused on Vergil, Vergil's focused on making mourning unnecessary by getting the cause of it back home.

If thinking Mundus was responsible for their father's death made them hate him and train hard to defeat him, that was a good thing. It increased their chances of survival.

They couldn't leave this house until they were ready. There were wards and protections here that could only begin to fall if Sparda's power failed, and if that happened the main seal would also start failing and Mundus would revive. If that happened, well. She doubted the wards could oppose him without Sparda reinforcing them.

That gave her the perfect excuse to stay here.

She was afraid now, afraid of the demons out there. What would they do to the mother of the children of their enemy? It would be worse than it had been that time, the time she couldn't stand to think about.

Men scared her as well. Sparda had seemed nice, civilized: she couldn't tell by appearances. They could also be a demon in disguise.

She'd stood up to Sparda, why was she such a scared little mouse about everything else? Everything except Vergil and Dante. She knew they could rip her apart easily, but they didn't scare her. Well, she was scared they would hurt themselves irretrievably, but not scared of them. She loved them, had carried them after her heart. They were the anchors of her sanity, the ones that kept her alive. She loved them to distraction.

True, it might be a spell, but… She really should be making them read the bibles. But they contradicted what their father had told them and if holy water didn't affect them, then what?

She didn't know what to do, she really didn't.

All she could do was love them, teach them that humans, though weak, deserved respect and caring. Teach them to be good. They didn't look up to her for her strength, they did for her scant wisdom and because she loved them and tried her best. So, that had to be enough.

The road to hell was paved with good intentions.

He was a devil. He shouldn't have been able to love her, if he was so dead to love as to be able to turn against God.

But she feared he had, and…

She should consult theologians, but what if that ended up with her children being killed? Herself being burnt at the stake she didn't _want_, but not her children, please no.

So years passed, and the children trained and grew, and Vergil remembered while Dante seemed to almost forget, or cease to care. She worried about Dante because of that. Maybe not thinking about it was just his way of coping.

Though he was becoming such an… angry child. Not at her, or Vergil, just… she could feel pent-up rage in him. He wanted to leave the ground, explore the world, meet new people, and he couldn't because of who his father had been. She thought he suspected, perhaps. Not that she had been raped, but that he had been born to fight Mundus. That he had been born with enemies.

That his father had arranged for him to come into a hostile world and then abandoned them all there, not just him but his beloved brother and mother.

She'd told them both that among humans they would have to hide their strength, lineage and powers. That people would think they were evil.

Vergil thought anyone who thought that was clearly stupid and should be ignored. Dante protested it, hated the idea of people thinking that, hating him. Of having to hide, to lie. Then Vergil said that if Dante cared about stupid people then he was stupid too, and there was another argument.

Lo-Heave-My, Vergil had a mouth like a serpent. Though Dante would say things he didn't mean when he was angry, Vergil would mean them. She didn't think he intended to actually be cruel, but… he was not going to make friends if he expressed contempt like that even of his own brother. She knew Vergil loved him, it was just that he didn't seem to know how to express it, and when he was focused on something he'd go past anything that got in his way like a bulldozer, run right over even his own brother.

Many times Dante came to her, lonely because Vergil was telling him to go away while he studied something. She hugged and played with him, but it clearly wasn't the same.

And then… she hadn't looked outside, perhaps there had been signs, she should have known… the attack came. And she was cut down, though she managed to give them warning first. Vergil ran, Dante hid.

And she knew nothing more.


	11. Chapter 13

_Disclaimer: I don't own DMC, nor do I make money._

_Here it is: the last chapter. _

_-_

Neither heaven nor the expected hell: was she in limbo? She roused three times, both when she felt the souls of those who were kin in some way, somehow connected to her, though she recognized only the first (Dante, no, not Dante, you can't die! I won't let you!), draw near to her.

She wasn't aware enough to question, or blame this on Sparda.

That changed when she found herself to be alive.

Dante, Vergil, clearly them, and in her hands that amulet Sparda had given her to give to the children.

They were so, so _old_. Thirties at least, perhaps more if they aged slowly. They were so changed: their faces were not lined by pain, but she could feel… why could she feel this?!

"Mother?" Dante asked carefully, kneeling down next to her.

"Dante?" She reached out and touched his face. Grown, clearly a warrior, and still human enough?

"Mother!" And he hugged her with the enthusiasm she had loved, and she knew he was still her son.

"How is it that I am here?"

"Your soul was haunting the amulet," Dante told her, puzzled. "You didn't know?"

"I was… yes, I was worried about you, I wanted you to live so much…" Or was this something Sparda had done? The jewel was his gift…

Why hadn't Vergil joined them. "Vergil?" She reached out.

Guilt, on his face and swamping her senses. He had sinned, oh he had sinned. But he truly repented. She smiled. "It's okay, Vergil. Come here and let me hug you."

Slowly, he came, and knelt beside Dante: she put her arms around them both, squeezed them. "What… you must tell me all about your adventures."

A second chance, a chance at life? Was this Sparda's gift? He had always said he was unhappy that he had stolen her life away, taken it out of her hands and into his own. She could, she could become a nun, find another husband, travel… anything she wanted.

"Well, to make a long story short, we killed Mundus." Ah, Dante. He was grinning.

She grinned back. "I knew you would, my brave strong boys!" Another squeeze.

Wait, if they could revive her, then… Sparda had said it was possible to revive him from his sword. Her blood ran cold.

They both looked at her, concerned. Had they grown into that same sense Sparda had and she now had? She was a demon. If Sparda had _anything _to do with this so help her she would kill him again.

"It's nothing, boys. Just old thoughts."

"Mother, I'd like you to meet Trish," Dante informed her.

"Who?" she asked. Had he gotten married?

"Trish!" he called, turning to face the door of the room.

The door opened, and in walked herself. Though she would never wear clothes like that.

"This is Trish. Mundus made her to look like you, she helped me kick his ass," Dante explained.

"I know you!" Eva exclaimed. "You were… you drew near me, I think you were dying…"

"You brought me back to life." Trish bowed her head. "Thank you."

"Helping my son is repayment enough," she assured her doppelganger. A demon version of herself, it would have been chilling before, but she didn't have the time to feel that, not when she was holding back rising panic about her own nature. Couldn't let the boys think (know) she hated all demons, they would think she hated them, and she couldn't do that. "Why do I suddenly sense emotions?"

"The amulet," Dante explained. "It's what Dad used to seal the underworld, it's very seriously magic. It kind of… interacted with your spirit, put power into it, since it was supposed to protect humans. Luckily, you seem to be sane. Humans who try to become devils usually end up completely nuts."

"It's very disconcerting. Is there any way to remove it?" Please, please, please let there be!

Dante frowned. "I'm not sure. All the research has been about how to do the transition the other way."

Why was Dante doing all the talking?

He went on: "Still, Mom, it's not so bad. Try it out, okay? I mean, we turned out fine. You're still mostly human, more than us."

_Mostly_ human. Oh dear. "I will, Dante, but this feels very…" What was a good reason to reject what Sparda had told her sorcerers spent their lives questing for, killing innocents to attain power, strength, a longer life… How to do it without revealing she hated, absolutely hated, the thought of becoming a part-devil like they were? "It doesn't feel like me."

"I will see what I can find," Vergil promised her. "Perhaps something could be done about nullifying the demonic energies mixed with yours. It might be possible to do so without killing you." But clearly he didn't think it was that likely.

"Thank you, Vergil." She kissed his forehead. "I know you'll do your best, and I'm sure that will be enough." If there was no alternative, then she would take the option of death. She wanted that, but how could she? They were so happy she was alive, they had already mourned her once, she didn't want them to have to do so again, to think she loved them so little that she wanted to abandon them, choose death over life with them.

They loved her, oh they loved her so much, they were capable of love, she could taste it, and they were so happy she loved them back. "Vergil, Dante…" Her eyes were wet, and she raised a hand to wipe away a tear.

Dante took her hand, held it away as the tear trickled down. "Devils never cry," he reminded her, and she realized he knew that she wasn't happy about her new nature, that he had once hated what he was as well, and understood. She kissed his forehead, feeling immensely better, though the tears kept coming, slow but sure. Tears of happiness, almost pure, now.

Trish was standing at the entrance of the room, feeling a third wheel, wanting to be welcomed into the embrace. She felt… there was some human in her as well, Eva was sure. She reached out. "Come here, Trish. I'd like to get to know you." Had she had a mother, created in the demon world? "You look like the daughter I never had."

A smile, so bright, and though she was clearly no innocent she was capable of joy. "I would like that very much."

"Is," she had to ask, "is Sparda here?"

"No," Dante shook his head.

Vergil explained, "We just needed a spell to make a new body and put you in it, since Dante knew your soul was there. Father is incredibly weak after giving every scrap of power he had to fuel the seal. I'm not sure how much is left of his mind." He bowed his head.

"It's not your fault, Vergil," she assured him.

"We're going to try to revive him soon. We waited to raise you until we were pretty sure we could do him too," Dante told her.

"That was very kind of you," she replied, and Dante was the only one that seemed to feel something was off, just as before.

She listened to their stories, and oh, oh her poor Vergil. She cried for him, holding him: of course she forgave him, she would never stop loving him, not her poor baby. She was so, so sorry. She should have taught him better, it was her fault.

Their home had been restored, none of the damage from the attack left. The spell to revive Sparda took place in the dining room: they didn't seem to have found his ritual chambers. She stood near the door. What if he was deranged? What if he recognized her, thought she was his mate in the devil way? She couldn't count on her sons holding him off, they would be too shocked and horrified. What a terrible way to find out, but she couldn't tell them to soften the blow: she wanted them to never find out.

She took deep breaths to calm herself, and she was sure that Dante noticed. Eva looked away when he looked at her, then realized that was far too suspicious. She turned back to him. "I'm just nervous," she explained. That was natural, he would think she was nervous that it would fail.

"It should work," he assured her, though his eyes regarded her: he knew there was more.

She looked down at her hands. "Thank you, Dante."

She had never seen the sword: it looked like a devil's sword much more than Rebellion and Yamato did. Made of flesh and bone, red lightening crackling over it sometimes, raw red muscle and other things seeming to pulse… It disgusted her, she abhorred it for its shape as well as who was inside.

She had been free of him for so long… perhaps they could pretend they had fallen out of love, get a divorce? Mundus was dead, the world was safe now for her. Save the little matter of how long she had been dead.

The children would be unhappy and Catholics weren't supposed to divorce, but they had never been married in the first place, so it wasn't a sin.

She could do anything, so why did she feel like the noose was tightening around her as Dante and Vergil worked?

Then, the sword turned into that same purple light that had come from Sparda's corpse: it glowed blindingly and then when it faded he lay there. Perfect as ever.

His eyes opened, blinked, she could feel him reaching out, and this was the other person she had sensed.

And he loved her, he truly did, and he was sorry, and… she should forgive him, really she should, since he truly repented. Though, was she capable of it?

If he loved her, he would let her go. She felt herself relax as Dante drew him to his feet, as he hugged his sons, told them he loved them, and she felt more wordless communication she couldn't understand.

She should go over there, act glad to see him, she told herself firmly. On the count of three.

Gently, the boys were pushed aside, and they stood there. "Eva." He bowed low.

"Sparda. I'm glad you're alive again." She smiled, and truly she was. He might be able to escape damnation now, redeem himself. It relieved her that she truly didn't want him to go to hell.

"Vergil, Dante, I'm sorry, but I need to have a private talk with your mother. I have things I must say. I have apologized to you for abandoning you, but…" he told them, and it was not an outright lie, though the truth was obscured.

"Of course, Father," Vergil answered.

He led her away to an old sitting room: neutral ground. When they were settled on two chair he asked her, "What do you wish?"

"Well, I want to spend time with my children, first."

"Do you want me to find some excuse to leave, then?" He was reluctant to leave his beloved children, but he would do it for her.

"No, that would make them suspicious." She shook her head. "I think I can stand your presence. And I don't begrudge you time with them. I had them longer than you did, after all."

"I am so sorry." He bowed his head.

"They said you did all you could to keep the seal up."

"No, well yes, for that as well, but…"

"I know, I can feel it." She frowned. "You're going to help Vergil look into finding a cure for this." She raised an eyebrow at him. "You want to say something. Say it."

"It's nothing, truly."

"Say it."

"It's simply that… you're beautiful like this." He looked away, ashamed. He hadn't wanted to scare her. He'd still done so, however.

"Well, you're beautiful." It doesn't matter either way. "I think, at least for now, we'll have to stay together, for the children." Just like before.

Perhaps it was the time that had passed, but he simply didn't scare her as much, now. She felt sorry for him, more than anything. He had wanted to be heartless, to do what had to be done and then clean up the traces, let her return to her life with minimal damage, but he'd fallen in love and she'd refused to act out his script. Nothing had gone right.

She was simply tired now, and she hated seeing people hurt: the wall of hate was gone.

He'd gotten what he had wanted, the world was saved, he had told the truth. Her unwilling sacrifice had saved the world like the priestess' had.

In a war, innocents suffered. In the final war, good against evil, all but the innocents would suffer. The war had been coming, the trumpets had sounded calling all to arms, unleashing evil…

She understood why he had done it. So… was it her fault, that she had not believed him, had thought an honest devil was lying? Had she brought her suffering on herself? He had tried to bring her willingly.

"I don't hate you," she told him.

That was all she could say for now. She wouldn't lie to him.

His happiness was as bright as the sun.


End file.
